


Playing with Matches

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Begging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Orgasm, Indrid has powers but is not mothman, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Matchmaking, Oral Sex, Pining, Reader request, Rough Oral Sex, Trans Duck Newton, indruck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Indrid Cold is a gifted matchmaker who is tired of weddings and parties where everyone whispers about how funny it is that the matchmaker is all alone. Duck Newton is a part-time ranger with money worries.When Indrid makes Duck an offer it seems like both if them have found a solution to their worries.Turns out, they've each found way more than they bargained for.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 20
Kudos: 151





	1. Are You Lonesome Tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> A reader requested: Indruck AU where Indrid has specialized matchmaking skills please? Feel free to go off the rails and play in the space.

Indrid Cold, matchmaker extraordinaire, takes pride in a job well done. 

But good gracious is he enjoying being at an engagement party that has fuck-all to do with him. 

His friend Barclay, after two years of courtship, finally asked his boyfriend, Joseph, to marry him. Ironically, Joseph had been preparing to ask him the literal next day (“I proposed after fancy dinner because I wanted to be classy for him, he was gonna do it after we cooked Sunday dinner because he knows I like low-key stuff” Barclay told him with a fond sigh).

The best part of the evening, other than his friends' happiness, is that no one is schmoozing with him or trying to get him to talk shop when he just wants to eat his dessert. Still, he knows this party will be the exception, rather than the rule, for the rest of his spring. 

He tries not to think about it, but the idea must noticeably nag at him, because Dani, Barclay’s younger sister and Indrid’s friend, sits down beside him with a concerned smile. 

“You okay?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yes. Just taking a moment to take in how happy everyone looks. Joseph said you’ll be helping with the wedding planning.”

“Yep. Helping is the operative word, dude’s hella organized.”

“Very true. I must admit, I am glad they’ve chosen to have the wedding in October. Spring and summer are murderous in terms of my schedule.”

“Because they’re the seasons of looooove.” Aubrey, Dani’s girlfriend, hops into her lap, pecking her on the cheek. 

“They are the seasons of weddings and everyone wanting to get engaged. You have not seen panic until you have seen a wealthy socialite realize all their friends are married off to suitable partners and they are still alone.”

“This is why we’re eloping” Dani looks at Aubrey with a smile.

“I thought you liked seeing the payoff from your work.” Aubrey steals a brownie from the plate on the table.

“I do. But, well, I often feel rather lonely at the events. I seldom know anyone other than the couple or the family that invited me.”

“Why not bring a date?” Dani hands Aubrey a napkin. 

Indrid smiles ruefully, “I’m afraid I haven’t found anyone who’s interested in attending them with me.”

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly, but that lie follows him all the way home and climbs under the covers with him when he switches off the light. 

There are plenty of people who want to attend weddings and parties with Indrid Cold, matchmaker to the stars. 

None of them want to attend with Indrid Cold, man who still smiles a bit too wide in social gatherings and whose features have been generously called “alien.”

He seldom tells people this. Indeed, Barclay only knows because Indrid once confessed it to him after six glasses of spiked eggnog. Because the question that always, _always_ follows is, “why not use those matchmaking skills on yourself?”

There are only so many times he can explain the greatest irony of his life: That Indrid Cold, matchmaker to the stars, is incapable of finding a match of his own. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid picks up his pen, shifts to the right on the sun-worn, wind-splintered bench to get a better angle on the scene he’s drawing; a marsh, reeds spring-green and blackbirds screeching proudly from within them. 

Boots crunch on the trail a few yards away, and then his favorite sight in the whole state park emerges, cardboard box under one strong arm and looking remarkably charming in khaki and dark green.

“Oh, hey Indrid.” 

“Hello, Duck.”

Duck Newton, part-time ranger, Indrid’s free and enthusiastic tour guide to the coastal environment, and the only person who can share a space with him while he’s drawing who doesn’t ruin his focus. 

“How’s the color contrast series goin’?” Duck asks as he walks a few feet up the nearby boardwalk and sits down. 

“Well, thank you. I keep hoping we’ll get a sunny enough day for me to make use of the blooming wildflowers in the rockier patches by the beach.”

“You figure out a way to get a Northern California spring not to be fuckin foggy twenty-four/seven, you let me know. Don’t always miss Kepler, but chirst do I miss livin somewhere with seasons.” Duck unscrews the lid of a small jar.

“Why Duck, don’t be ridiculous, there are seasons here: Foggy with a chance of rain, foggy, on fire, and foggy again.”

Duck laughs, a sound that reminds Indrid of some exotic bird, the kind that’s at once striking and a bit ridiculous. Then he shifts onto his belly, leaning over the edge of the boardwalk. He catches Indrid watching him quizzically. 

“Juno is out sick, so I’m doin the water samples for the pollutant checks for her.”

“I see.” Indrid watches him a moment longer, then returns to his sketching. But as Duck continues his sample collection, an idea buzzes around his head .

“How has the rent issue been going? I recall you being worried about them raising it now that GTech put a satellite office in that area.”

“I was right to be. I got a month before the fuckin thing goes up by five hundred bucks. Shit was already tight with bills and loans and everythin else. And it ain’t like I can just up and find a new place; you know how it is here.”

“Indeed.” Indrid hasn’t looked for somewhere to live after locating his small house, having had more than enough moving for one lifetime, but he’s paid enough attention to his friend’s struggles to know the situation is not pleasant.

“Sorry” Duck scribbles something on the label of the last jar, “shouldn’t be bellyachin to you about this.”

“On the contrary, I am glad you feel comfortable telling me such things. Because it is going to make this next question less awkward: will you let me take you to dinner tonight?”

Duck’s eyebrows shoot up, and Indrid heads off the obvious question, “I do not mean as a date. Or, well, not exactly. But I have a business proposition for you.”

“Uh, okay.” Duck still seems unsure. 

“You can name the place. Anywhere you like.” He smiles, hopes it’s reassuring instead of creepy.

Duck relaxes, smiles back, “Alright, why the hell not? Meet me at Great Wall at seven?”

Indrid nods, and Duck gives him a wave farewell as he heads back down the trail. Indrid takes another hour on his drawing, humming all the while. 

\---------------------------

The restaurant Duck chose is a steam-table Chinese buffet, all thick red carpet and oddly comforting fluorescent lights. The ranger beats him there, is fidgeting with his straw wrapper when Indrid sits down in the opposite booth. 

“I, uh, didn't wanna start until you got here. Seemed kinda rude.”

“You southern boys; such good manners.” 

Duck blushes slightly and Indrid kicks himself for his tone; he needs to avoid any hint of flirtation.

They eat their first plates in a balance of friendly chatter and amiable silence. 

“So, uh, what’s this proposition you got? I’d say it sounded kinda shady this mornin, but you don’t strike me as that kind of guy.”

“Thank you. I think.” Indrid sips his soda, “I believe I have a way for you to be rid of your money woes.”

Duck chuckles, “Again, sounds like you're about to ask me to help you knock off a bank or somethin'.”

“Nothing of the sort. Duck, do you know what I do for a living?”

A shrug, “Always assumed you were some kind of artist or designer, given that every time I see you you’re drawin. Plus the whole,” he makes a circular gesture around his face, to indicate Indrid’s red glasses (his trademark), silvery hair “look and the way you dress, give me a kinda, uh, bohemian? No, that ain’t the right word. Uh, am I makin sense?”

“Yes. And to some extent you are correct; my true passion is visual art, in many forms. But I earn my pay as a matchmaker.”

“Huh.” Duck wipes his fork on a napkin, “That bring in a lot of cash?”

“Lots, but only because I am, shall we say, gifted at it. That means every high powered businessman who wants a trophy wife, every wealthy, status conscious family who wants a marriage that won’t lead to scandal down the line, and a surprising number of celebrities and minor royalty, hire me to help them find love.”

“Damn. Uh, why are you thinkin this is somethin I could help with? I spend most of my time in the forest and I ain’t had a serious boyfriend in two years.”

Indrid smiles, “Part of my job involves attending weddings and engagement parties of those I assist, both as a polite gesture and because it brings me into contact with new clients. I also get invited to an ungodly number of parties. Not because anyone wants to talk to me, but because they or their guests want the chance to corner me or approach me about matchmaking for them.”

“You don’t sound like you like it much.”

“I do, to some degree. I like helping people find love. And I like having the means to support my true passions.” He almost says the third reason, decides against it. 

“Regardless, I am tired of going to these events alone and having no one to talk to during them, no one to vent to or laugh with about the ridiculousness on the ride home. That is where you come in.”

Duck, seeming to sense what’s coming, goes still.

“What I am proposing is simple: I pay you a generous allowance each month and in exchange, you accompany me to these events as my ‘boyfriend.’ You don’t have to come to every single one, as I do not wish to impede your work or your social life. I thought an allowance better than a per-event basis so payment will be consistent and thus ease your rent woes. What do you think?”

“I mean, that’s pretty fuckin generous of you but, uh, why me?”

Indrid draws a finger through the condensation on his glass, “I like you, Duck. You are interesting to talk to, down to earth, funny. I think you would be excellent company. On a less selfish end, you are a good man, and I do not wish to see you struggling to meet your basic needs. I know, ah, accompanying me may not seem as appealing to you as it is to me, and I do not wish you to enter into something you are not comfortable with in order to make ends meet. So you know, I am prepared to offer some allowance regardless of your answer.”

“Really? You’d do that, even if I said no?”

“Yes” Indrid looks at the shiny table top, “in the end, what I mostly want is to help you.”

“Uh, would, uh, would you want, um, fuck, would you be expectin me to fuck you as part of all this?”

“Absolutely not.” Indrid looks up hurriedly, in time to catch the flash of disappointment on Duck’s face. 

“That is, the money would in no way be tied to that. Not that, ah, I do not find you attractive or find the idea of sex with you unappealing.”

“Gee, thanks.” Comes the dry reply.

“Apologies, I-”

“I’m teasin you, Indrid.” Duck smiles gently, “and I’m acceptin your offer too. Assumin we can get everything in writing.”

“Of course. I will have my lawyer draw it up tomorrow. Janelle has an eye for these sorts of odder arrangements. Also, she will throw me into the sea if she thinks I am trying to take advantage of someone, so it will be designed to be very fair to both of us.”

“Sounds good. So, uh” Duck leans back in the booth, smile turning playful, “this mean I get to start callin' you my boyfriend?”

“If that’s what you would like.” Indrid grins back, the plans for the next few days already playing out in his mind, “It also means that tomorrow afternoon, you and I have a date.”

They finish their meal and Indrid pays cash, walking Duck out to his beat-up pick-up. After they say goodnight, he turns towards his own car, then pauses, tossing a last tidbit over his shoulder.

“The reason is not what you think it is but; be sure to wear nice underwear tomorrow.”


	2. Good Luck Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid picks colors. Duck strips down.

Duck wears not only nice underwear (well, his boxers are flat black, that’s classy, right?), but his best jeans and a green button up as well. It sounds like Indrid travels in fancy circles, and Duck is a little worried about coming off as hickish. 

Not that he thinks Indrid will judge him for it; the man has never been anything but unfailingly, if occasionally oddly, polite to Duck. Hell, he’s never seen the guy be rude to anyone, anywhere. 

He meets Indrid at the address he texted him last night, by a fountain in the center of one of the fanciest shopping centers in town. Indrid is already dressed more formally than he’s ever seen him, a long, dark coat buttoned up with a grey dress shirt peeking out the top and black slacks out the bottom.

“Good to see you again Duck. Traffic wasn’t too bad?”

“No worse than usual.” He takes in the storefronts, trying to guess which one Indrid is about to pull him into. 

“That one.” Indrid answers, pointing to a smaller sign reading _V. Cushing Fine Suits and Tailoring._

“I’m...gonna buy a suit?”

“ _I_ am going to buy it. Unless you already have an outfit you’d be comfortable meeting, say, George Clooney in.”

“No fuckin way.”

Indrid chuckles, takes a step forward, then freezes. 

“Ah, shall we?” He awkwardly offer his arm and Duck takes it hesitantly.

“Guess it’s best to, uh, practice bein a couple before we gotta perform in front of a crowd.”

“Precisely.” Indrid maintains a remarkable amount of distance from him in spite of them being joined at the elbow. 

The tailor’s is much friendlier on the inside, lit by faux-oil lamps and free of anyone staring down their nose at him. 

“Is that, is he playin fuckin Johnny Cash?” Duck looks up towards the speakers, music crackling faintly from them. 

“Vincent has his own tastes. That’s part of why I like him. Ah, speak of the devil.” Indrid turns just as a tall man steps from a back room. Duck would put him in his forties, canary yellow shirt and dark skin making for a stylish appearance. 

“Indrid, so good to see you again. And this must be the gentleman you were talking about.”

“Indeed. Vincent, this is my boyfriend, Duck.”

“A pleasure.” He extends a hand and Duck shakes it, more hung up on hearing Indrid say that word aloud than he ought to be, “what can I do for you today, Duck?”

“Uh, I ain’t entirely sure. Indrid seems to have somethin in mind, kinda followin his lead.”

Vincent turns to Indrid, eyebrow raised. 

“I want to have two suits made for him, one evening wear and one more suitable for events on mornings and afternoons. We’ll also need to see if we can find something on the rack, as he'll be attending a party with me for the first time on Saturday.”

“Understood. Let me grab my things, and I will meet you in the fitting room.”

Duck follows Indrid through a set of doors and into a private room with slightly more mirrors than seem necessary. 

“This is what the underwear is for, ain’t it?” Duck glances at Indrid, who nods.

“He tends to have you strip down the first time he does measurements, though you do not have to if you’re uncomfortable. He’s very efficient, and is always open to designing the suits to match your personal taste. While you two are in here, I’ll see what I can find on the rack. Requests?”

“Not really. Gotta be honest, usually just get black because it’s reliable. I trust you to pick for me. And, uh, I’d really like it if you picked the colors or whatever for the other two.”

Indrid cocks his head slightly, and his smile seems to be fighting to contain itself, “Really?”

“Sure. You, uh, you got an artist's eye and all that. Bettin you’d pick more interestin things than I would. Plus, uh, you’re the one who’s gonna be lookin at me while I wear ‘em.” He wills his blush to stay under his shirt until Indrid is gone. 

The smile splits wide, “True. Very well. I will use my good judgement.”

With that he disappears, passing Vincent as he enters. 

The tailor instructs him to disrobe (“only as much as you’re comfortable with, good sir”) and since he took the trouble of wearing the damn things, he goes down to his underwear. Vincent sets about measuring him, giving him directions to lift his arm or change his stance so he can get accurate numbers. 

As he works he asks, “So, how did you come to know Indrid?”

Duck figures now is the time to practice a version of the story that’s enough of the truth to avoid setting off his innate inability to lie, “We met at the state park where I work. He was always comin to draw, and it happened to be on chunks of the trails where I regularly passed by. He’d ask me questions, y’know, like what a certain plant was or if I knew where he could find wildlife he was hopin to draw. Then I’m pretty sure he started goin where he knew I’d be, and we just got to talkin. Always liked that his questions were genuine; if he asked me somethin, he wanted to know the answer, whether that was how I was feelin or how come that bird's nest was built that way. I tried to do the same for him, because I thought the art he was making was, uh, is incredible and he looks so goddamn happy when he starts talkin about it.”

“It is exquisite. He even did a piece for my office. Refused to let me pay him, which is highway robbery on my part but I’ll take it.” Vincent measures his upper arm and makes an approving sound. 

“You meet him through his work?” 

Vincent gives an amused noise, almost like a bleat, “Not at all. He came in here as he was just starting to make a name for himself. He’d been to several tailors, asking them to make an outfit to compliment a shirt he bought. It was bright yellow and pink pinstripes, garish by most people’s standards, and apparently the other shops told him as much and tried to make him pick something else. I never shy away from color in my work, and was happy to accommodate him. There, I believe that’s everything, ah, Indrid, perfect timing.” Vincent stands, tucking his pen back into his pocket, “And I see you have the fabric samples as well.”

Indrid stands at the back of the room, three suits in his left hand and a binder in his right. 

“I did. I also wish to inform you you’re about to have three customers. Duck and I can take it from here.”

“Of course. Don’t hesitate to come find me though.” Vincent bows and heads back to the store. 

Duck turns back to the mirror in front of him, finds Indrid staring at his reflection. Worry ricochets through his stomach when he remembers that: one, his top surgery scars are visible, even with the chest hair and two, that part of his identity has never come up between Indrid and him.

He holds his breath for as long as it takes him to notice Indrid is clearly taking in his whole form from the safety of the mirror. 

“I’m glad we’re having Vincent make you some things. Those work clothes hardly do you justice.” It’s a purr, Indrid stepping closer as he says it. When he’s directly behind him, Duck has the urge to lean backwards, let Indrid feel as well as see the form he’s so appreciative of.

Instead, he says, “Which one of those should I try first?”

Indrid hands him the three hangers, “Any of them. I have a strong guess they’ll fit, and the colors suit you.”

As Duck gets into the first suit, navy blue, and the accompanying white shirt while Indrid flips through the binder, occasionally looking up at Duck with a clinical eye. 

He rejects the blue suit on basis of the pants not fitting quite as comfortably as he’d like, and the black for making him look like a teenager who borrowed his dad’s suit for prom. The dark grey one, however, has him checking himself out from every angle. 

“When you have a moment, come tell me what you think of these.”

Duck hops off the small platform, stands next to Indrid and looks down at the page. 

“A black suit would be versatile, though I think this lining makes it more you” he shows Duck a swatch of metallic, forest green.

“Works for me.”

“And for the ‘spring’ one, this lighter blue-grey would look rather, ah, dashing.”

“Dashin?” Duck repeats, the tease bordering on flirtatious.

“Not a word.” Indrid smiles, “now, I was thinking this for the lining” he flips to a vibrant teal, and Duck bites his lip.

“Uh, that’s a little flashy for my taste.”

“Noted. Hmmmm, ahha” Indrid pulls another fabric, this one iridescent, subtle steel blue, “How’s that?” 

“Way better.”

“Wonderful. I’ll give Vincent the details when we’re buying the charming item you have on. Ah, come here, the collar’s gone crooked.”

Duck bends forward without thinking and Indrid brings his hands up to fix the jacket. It’s only when Duck looks up to ask if Indrid has any other plans for the day that he discovers just how close their faces are. They’ve never been this close, and he never wants to be further away ever again.

Christ, where did that come from?

“That, uh, that better?” He whispers.

“Extraordinarily.” Indrid pulls his hands back slowly, then busies himself with gathering up their things as Duck quickly changes back into his normal clothes. 

“If you are not busy, it would be best if you came home with me so we could go over the contract and some other practical matters. I can also order dinner for us, as I am rapidly reaching my limit for being out and about. What do you think, pet?” 

The endearment takes Duck and, from expression, Indrid by surprise. 

“Sounds great. Darlin.” Duck grins when the pet name dispels the worry from Indrid’s face, and offers him his arm. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

Indrid’s house is the least surprising thing he’s seen today. 

It must have been sold as a modern, stylish house for one in the hills, sleek lines and cream whites and stainless steel. 

Indrid has painted the outside vibrant teal (“the first thing I did when I paid it off”), the inside a hodge-podge of bright colors that somehow all go together. The walls are coated in paintings and posters, drawings are scattered everywhere, and belongings seem to exist solely in piles and stacks rather than organized systems. It ought to be unpleasant, but instead it makes the space feel lived-in rather than unbearably modern and dull. It's exactly how he imagined Indrid's home looking. 

“There, now you should have everything you need.” Indrid taps the screen on his phone, padding about the open kitchen in pajama pants and a white tank top. He changed immediately upon them getting home, and thus looks more like the version of himself Duck is used to. 

They’d ordered pizza, looked over the contract while waiting for it. It's fairly simple, stating how much Duck will be paid each month, and what is included in his role as boyfriend (pet names, cuddling, and small kisses are listed as acceptable actions for them both). They each signed their names on the dotted line. Then they’d set about the even more complicated task of trying to coordinate their schedules, and at some point Indrid decided it was simplest to just link Duck to his calendar.

“Jesus” Duck stares at the rows of numbered boxes, “you weren’t kiddin about this bein a busy season. And thanks for sayin I don’t gotta come to all of them, because I’d get fired from the park for missin days.”

“I would never deny you your beloved forest.” Indrid smiles fondly at him, pale hair catching the afternoon light. 

“Hey, uh, don’t mean no offense by this, but I’m sorta amazed you ain’t found someone to go as your real boyfriend.”

“Oh?” Indrid noticeably braces. 

“I mean, you’re a nice guy, and you’re old enough that I gotta imagine you’ve had plenty of time to find someone more sophisticated than a twenty-six year old park ranger-”

Indrid snickers, then full on laughs, “Apologies, that was not the direction I was expecting that to go. Tell me, Duck, how old do you think I am?”

“Forty somethin?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“Fuck, uh, I’m just gonna hide under the table for awhile.” Duck wishes he had his hat on so he could hide behind it, sinks in on himself until Indrid reaches across the table and rests a hand lightly atop his own, withdrawing it when he looks up. 

“I’m not insulted. I know my features are unusual, and I keep my hair pale or silver for a variety of reasons, chief of which is I like it. More to the point, I do not have much luck in love. Indeed, the best luck I’ve had in months is having someone as charming as you agree to this arrangement.”

Duck’s about to make a quip about being a good luck charm when his phone buzzes, Juno’s name showing on the screen. He signals he’ll be right back, walks up and down the main hall on the first floor as she lets him know she’s still sick and asks if he can monitor a few projects for her. He says of course, heads back to the living room, and stops dead. 

“Hey, I didn’t know you knew Joe and Barclay!”

“Oh yes,” Indrid says brightly, glancing at the engagement announcement Duck picked up from an end table, “Barclay and I have been friends for years, back when he was a line cook and I was worst waiter in existence.”

“Joe and I were roommates my freshman year of college, stayed friends after that. I remember him mentioning an Indrid, never put two and two together until now. I wanted to go to this but, well, I was coverin' an extra shift at the grocery store.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, ain’t the end of the world.” He hopes the disappointment doesn’t show through his smile, “And now thanks to you I don’t gotta worry about stockin shelves anymore. Plus, I get to go to the weddin no matter what.” 

He and Indrid seem to have the exact same thought at the same time, trading a curious look.

“Are we gonna be goin to their weddin together? I mean, if we’re tellin everyone I’m your boyfriend…”

“You make a good point, and I see no reason to discontinue the arrangement in the slower months. That is, if you wish to attend it with me, I would be happy to.”

He looks hopeful, and so Duck elbows him playfully and winks, “It’s a date.”

\----------------------------------------

“So I’m allowed to tell ‘em to knock it off if they’re bein rude?”

“Absolutely” Indrid straightens his pink tie in the rearview mirror, “Nobody wants to be on my bad side, so they shouldn’t be rude to you. Or to the waitstaff or anyone else for that matter. Regardless, if they are being rude or unpleasant, you do not have to grin and bear it for my sake.” He offers his arm, Duck takes it, and they start up the walk to the mansion in the Marin hills. 

“It’s funny, I do not usually enjoy the fact that no one wants to anger me. It makes me feel like some sort of monster they’re trying not to awaken. Like they think it’ll mean their doom if they get on my bad side. All it means is I’ll stop answering their inquiries or going to their parties.”

“Got the feelin a sub-par guest list counts as the end of the world to some of these folks-ooh, damn, lookit those lilacs.” Duck eyes the bright purple blooms on either side of the door as Indrid knocks. 

“I knew bringing you was a good idea.” Indrid draws him a little closer as the front door opens. 

When they reach the backyard, strung with tasteful garlands and white lights, and full of people wearing pastels, there’s a wave of silence that moves through the crowd as each cluster of guests notices them. 

He plays the same game he always does upon entering these gatherings, but this time with a partner.

“Alright, your best guess: who approaches me first, not counting the host?” He murmurs in Ducks ear as they walk into the yard. 

Duck thinks for a moment, whispers back, “The one who looks like fancy robin's egg” nodding his head in slightly towards an older woman in a pale blue dress. 

“Noted. My money is on the gentleman in the far corner. He seems to be sweating.”

“What happens if I win?” Duck murmurs, kissing his cheek for the benefit of the host as he approaches. 

(That must be the only reason).

“Indrid, so glad you could make it! I must say, we were all wondering what it meant when you actually RSVPed for two.”

“It meant I was bringing two people, what else? Mr. Peterson, this is Duck Newton, my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Mrs. Peterson arrives at her husbands elbow, “why, no one had the faintest idea you were seeing anyone.”

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time.”

“Usually in the woods. Y’know, for privacy.” Duck puts just a hint of lasciviousness into his words, enough to make their hosts look a bit scandalized. Indrid switches to keeping his arm around Duck’s waist with a grin.

“We only recently decided Duck should start accompanying me to these functions.”

They've run over the language they’ll use to describe their relationship carefully. Duck’s formal title on the contract even being “boyfriend” so that saying “I am Indrid’s boyfriend” won’t be a lie. Because Duck cannot lie. Indrid learned this when he once asked if he was interrupting him and Duck, trying to be polite, spent a minute trying and utterly failing to say “no.”

Next to approach them is the gentleman Indrid identified, asking Indrid if he had a moment to discuss his son. 

“People are starting to talk, Mr. Cold, and it’s immensely stressful.”

Indrid smiles and nods, takes down a name and details. Does the same with several parents. It’s always the parents at these functions; younger people only come to him for advice at weddings. Watching their friends get married turns their own thoughts to love and their futures. 

Halfway through the evening, Duck spots someone across the yard and whirls his back to them hissing, “shit.”

“Someone you know?”

“Kinda. I’ve seen that couple before.So, when I first started workin at the park, I did a lot more rounds of the campgrounds and picnic areas. And I kept findin this one spot _trashed_ , bottles and cans everywhere, pizza boxes, just a fuckin mess. After two weeks, I finally found out who was doin it. I assumed it was college kids. Nope. Two fuckin adults, in their fancy-ass BMW, who couldn’t be bothered to clean up in fuckin state park. I caught them as they were drivin away, and they waved me off, tried to bribe me to ignore it, and when that didn’t work, started drivin around me. So I grabbed a half full pizza box, ran as fast as I could, and chucked it at the car. Hit the back window with the most satisfyin sound.”

Indrid is so engrossed in the tale he’s unprepared for the punchline, and nearly snorts artisanal soda out his nose as he laughs. 

“I, that’s, that’s wonderful.” He tries to get his giggling under control, which only sets Duck off, laugh bounding through the yard like a golden retriever. 

“You s-shoulda seen their faces, christ it was funny. They never did come back.”

“Well done to you then. And don’t worry, my pet, if they say anything rude to you I shall tell everyone that one of them came to me for help arranging an affair two months ago. Help I did not give, of course.”

Duck doesn’t even blink at the nickname this time, merely kisses Indrid on the cheek with a, “thanks, darlin.”

When they finally get back to the house, Indrid removes two small bottles of sweet champagne from the fridge.

Duck slings his jacket onto the back of a chair, “So, sugar, you won the bet. What do I owe you?”

“You can open these bottles.” Indrid hands them to him, and Duck rolls up his sleeves, muscles in his forearms noticeable enough that Indrid tamps down a ruder suggestion of how he could use his grip strength. 

Duck slides an open bottle along the counter back to him. Indrid holds it up and declares, “Here’s to the first night of a promising partnership.”

Glass clinks as Duck responds, “I’ll drink to that, darlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this was supposed to be a shortish fic but nope, we are headed for more pining and character development, apparently. 
> 
> Also, whoever guesses where the chapter titles come from gets bonus points in my heart.


	3. Teddy Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck notices. Barclay cautions. Indrid has a rough day.

Duck learns many things in his first month with Indrid. 

The most obnoxious one is that everyone and their uncle has been speculating on Indrid’s sex life. 

“Tell me” a woman about his age, flanked by two blonde men, approaches him while he’s refiling Indrid’s drink from the buffet, “Is the matchmaker any good at lighting your fire?”

“What? Oh, uh, I, fuck, um, sorry, can’t chat, gotta get this back to him.” He hurried off, hoping the intrusion was a one time occurrence. 

No such luck.

“Dirk, settle a bet for us: is Indrid a top or a bottom?”

“Are the rumors true, Drake? I’ve always heard that Indrid has a fifty-shades style sex dungeon in his house.”

“So, Duke, getting the hang of the sex swing?”

“Were y’all raised with no goddamn manners?” Is what he says to that last question, but much of the time he stammers and bails out of the conversation.

Because, while he wouldn’t answer their questions regardless, he really wishes he had the information needed to do so.

Indrid entered the rotation of Duck’s fantasy material soon after they met. Something about his features, his odd demeanor, made Duck curious, made him imagine all sorts of lurid things they could get up to. But he was just one of many people Duck got off to the thought of fucking. 

Ever since they entered into this arrangement, he hasn’t fantasized about anyone else. Instead he replays their nights together, the way Indrid feels when he nestles against him in uncomfortable pews or chairs, the way even his casual touches make Duck feel so wanted and cared for. 

(He got off two nights ago to the thought of Indrid instructing him exactly where and how to fuck himself.)

The second thing he’s learned is that he isn’t the only one to assume Indrid is older than he actually is. This creates a very particular image to their fellow guests, one he’s caught them speculating about when they assumed he and Indrid were out of earshot. No one’s quite guessed the actual arrangement, but plenty have suggested Duck is a trophy boyfriend.

This doesn’t bother him as much as assumed it would. Part of that is that he spent most of his life learning not to give a shit about what a certain type of person thought. But the other is that he’s had several past partners who loved him for his reliability, his humor and yes, his looks. Yet he’s never had a partner who flaunted that last part of him, or been around so many people who see him as the young boytoy of a couple. He kind of likes the fact that a bunch of rich people scandalized at the thought of him on his knees for his elusive, eccentric much-older boyfriend. 

And flaunt him Indrid does. He preens whenever he catches someone else eyeing Duck. Touches him lovingly, adjusts his suit or tie when they get out of place. Duck plays his part to the hilt, cuddles up to Indrid when he notices people staring, whispers flirtatious things in his ear to create a convincing blush. 

Indrid also compliments him endlessly in front of others, from his looks to his work to his ideas. The compliments, however, do not seem to be part of the act, because they continue when he and Duck are alone, or with their friends. Indrid always wants his opinion, laughs at his jokes, smiles when he talks for ten minutes about trees.

This leads to Duck’s third, most important observation: all the people who Indrid could have dated in the past missed the fucking boat. Big time. 

He’s always found Indrid easy and interesting to talk to, liked the way he flaps and grins as he talks about art, liked how genuine his interest is when listening to Duck. He struggles with social niceties at times, yet he’s delighted whenever Duck agrees to go with him on dates to the zoo or a park or a movie (“we ought to practice dating, to keep the ruse believable” “absolutely”). 

On top of the compliments, Indrid texts him sweet or thoughtful things throughout the day. Sends or brings him flowers, buys him dinner, offers to get him anything and everything he wants. It’s technically all behavior included in the contract (Indrid is allowed to offer additional benefits or gifts along with the salary), and they each agreed keeping up some flirtation while not out and about was acceptable. But Duck is starting to feel spoiled, like Indrid might be angling for something else. 

Yet no strings appear, Indrid stating multiple times that he cares about Duck and likes seeing him happy, and that it’s nice to spend his money on other people. 

So Duck decides not to look at it all too closely, lest he give into the nagging feeling that he’s getting far more from this arrangement than he deserves. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

“It’s exactly what he deserves, don’t you think?”

“Indrid, I’m not about to turn down someone reserving one of the private booths at WildWood, especially since I’ve been talking up our new exec chef, but are you sure spending all this money on Duck is healthy?” Barclay sits down in the deck chair opposite him. 

“Of course. It’s part of dating someone.”

“That’s not what I asked, now is it?” 

Indrid sighs, “I just...he makes me so happy, Barclay. I want him to be happy with me in return.”

“And you don’t think you’re enough on your own.”

“No. Well, not exactly. You remember when we first met, working at the Lodge? Why I insisted on pulling double shifts even when Mama tried to send me home?”

“Yep.” Barclay nods, the one syllable carrying years of sympathy. 

“It is nice to be the reason someone else is not facing that same thing. Not that Duck is in such, ah, dire circumstances.”

“Think I get what you’re saying.”

Indrid picks his water glass up from the table between them, runs his finger over the rim, “Not to mention, well, I take a certain amount of pleasure in spoiling him. It makes him happy and is, ah, shall we say, gratifying to me in certain ways.”

Barclay chuckles, lifts his glass, “Sounds like you discovered a new kink there. Congrats.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Indrid smirks, fully aware Barclay knows he’s lying. 

And that’s before he gets to the part where he imagines, over and over, what it would be like to spoil Duck with pleasure as well as everything else. Feels a pang of disappointment that some things will have to remain a mystery.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hotel del Coronado is radiant in the San Diego sunshine, waves blue and mild as if they’re auditioning for a travel commercial. 

Duck is enjoying the scenery from the balcony of the suite Indrid booked them, the perfect staging area for a wedding that is an all weekend affair. They arrived last night, and today will be spent in various parties, with the wedding itself taking place in the hotel tomorrow morning. 

Whatever calm the sea breeze and waves are giving him isn’t making it inside, where Indrid is pacing, half dressed in his formal wear and half in his pajamas. Duck finds the look adorable, Indrid’s troubled frown worrisome. 

His “boyfriend” hasn’t touched the breakfast Duck ordered them, barely sipped the coffee (four spoons of sugar, enough cream to turn it pale) Duck brought him when he sat up in bed. He’s been on edge since last night, but Duck chalked it up to the drive there and the fact they got cornered by people wanting Indrid’s advice in both the lobby and the elevator. 

Now he’s worried it’s something more. 

“‘Drid? You okay?” He leaves the balcony doors open as he turns back into the bedroom. 

“Yes, yes, perfectly fine.” Indrid waves a hand dismissively, “just running through everyone we’ll have to talk with today in my head.”

“Are you thinkin one of them is gonna be a problem? You seem real stressed.”

“No, it’s merely...nevermind. I’ll get my tie and shoes on and we can be off.”

“Might wanna change your pants too. Know it says semi-formal for this mornin, but I ain’t sure moth pajamas count.” Duck teases gently. 

“What do you…” Indrid comes to a stop, looks down at himself. Then he breaks into a smile, chuckles, “goodness, I’m glad I have you with me. I would have absolutely gone down in these without noticing.”

They eventually make it to where brunch awaits them. Indrid is waylaid almost immediately by a couple who is desperate for help in breaking up their daughter’s current romance. 

“I’m afraid you’ve fundamentally misunderstood my profession.” Indrid responds dryly, stepping around them.

Duck watches Indrid more carefully than usual, and by noon it’s clear something really is wrong. He maintains his polite, aloof demeanor, but his smile is worn when he flashes it, his posture returning to it’s slouch as soon as whoever he’s talking to turns away. 

He sense asking what’s wrong when they’re out in public might make Indrid feel cornered. So instead he brings him fresh drinks, interrupts conversations in which Indrid is getting stiff (or puts on an exaggerated display of PDA until the person leaves, which are the only moments Indrid’s genuine smile returns). 

The afternoon brings two private meetings with clients, and so Duck heads to the beach, stretches out in the sunshine. Reads his book, wades in the water, checks his phone now and then to be sure he’s not running late or Indrid doesn’t need anything. 

When he gets back to the room, a set of clothes is waiting for him on the bed along with a note. 

_Wear this tonight. I will meet you downstairs_.

He hears the note in Indrid’s voice, detached and cool, and feels an unexpected tendril of desire curling around his chest. 

Showering quickly to get the sand off him, he changes and follows the signs for the cocktail lounge. Wonders, not for the first time, why rich people can be so allergic to serving meals as opposed to a lot of booze mixed with food that fits in the palm of his hand. 

Indrid is in his pure black suit, red tie the same color as his glasses and a champagne flute in the hand not shoved in his pocket. 

“Hey, darlin.” Duck drawls, slipping his arm through Indrid’s.

“Hello, pet.” Indrid barely glances at him, hands him the glass, “go find me more of this, would you?”

“Uh, sure thing.” Duck wanders towards the bar, finds a platter for empty glasses and a refill of sparkling cider disguised as champagne. Returns to Indrid, who at the moment is free from conversation.

“Here you go.” He smiles. 

There’s an extraordinarily awkward pause where Indrid doesn’t seem to notice Duck, or anything else. Then he snaps out of it, takes the glass, and looks at Duck with the face of someone who knows he should say something, but can’t think of what.

He settles on, “Good boy.” 

The arousal coils tighter and Duck turns away abruptly, afraid it will show. 

“I’m gonna go grab somethin for myself.”

By the time he’s gotten something, everyone is taking their seats so the father of the bride can give a speech. Indrid is sitting in a back corner, massaging his temples, and Duck slides into the seat next to him.

He’s about to ask if Indrid needs to leave early when a man Duck’s seen at several of these gatherings, his college fraternity ring shining brightly, sits down on Indrid’s other side. 

“Mr Cold!”

“Gah!” Indrid starts, knocking the carafe of water onto the table and down into his lap.

“Napkin.” He holds out his hand as he hurriedly cleans up with his own, and Duck passes him his napkin. 

“Ooh, bad luck. So, about my son-”

“Mr. McShane, I am finished with dispensing advice for the day, so kindly do not say another word.” He hisses, furiously patting down his slacks as Duck grabs the remaining napkins on the table and hands them over. 

The man stands, leaving without a word. Indrid sounds like he’s growling, and he’s muttering audibly. 

“Blasted, can no one listen, never listen-”

“‘Drid?” Duck leans in, voice soft and concerned, “you seem ready to snap. Is there somethin I can do?”

“You can be _quiet_ , pet, so I can have a moment of peace and some space to collect myself.”

Duck pulls back, immediately faces the front of the room rather than Indrid, though he keeps one, worried eye on him.

Indrid glances at him over the tops of his glasses, “Much better.”

A moment later, a cool hand rests on Duck’s thigh, squeezing lightly as Indrid murmurs, “good boy.”

He always wishes these shindigs were shorter. But he needs this one to end soon, because the arousal is now a steady tug in his chest.

And he knows as soon as Indrid is asleep in their room, he has a date with his hand.

\------------------------------------------------

He is officially terrible. 

This is the conclusion Indrid reaches when his hand touches Duck's leg, only for the ranger to tense up. 

The future he’s been monitoring all day finally settles, but his stomach does not. It twists all through dinner, threatens to crawl out his throat when he and Duck take the elevator up to the suite. 

“Well, I, uh, I’m gonna head to bed.” Duck crosses to the couch, begins unfolding it into the bed he always insists on taking .

“Duck, wait a moment. Please. I, I need to apologize for my behavior this evening. Today was far more stressful than anticipated and I am afraid I did not handle it well.”

“S’okay.” Duck shrugs, voice tight.

“No, it isn’t. I was downright rude to you tonight. I, I ordered you around, failed to treat you like my equal or like someone I could explain things to in a polite manner. That is not acceptable.”

“‘Drid,” Duck turns to face him, steps closer, “It ain’t the end of the world, okay? I ain’t even all that mad about it. I mean, if you start treatin me like a servant day in and day out we’re gonna have a problem, but mostly I was just worried because you were obviously upset.”

“It’s just, everyone today wanted my advice and then utterly disregarded it, or failed to abide by any of the boundaries I set. It was exhausting, and I should have communicated more clearly what was going on rather than snapping at you.”

“Yeah, that woulda helped a lot. What?” Duck frowns when snicker darts from Indrid’s mouth. 

“Direct as ever, my sweet. I appreciate it.” He smiles, muscles loosening when Duck smiles back, “how about we spend some time on the drive home discussing how to approach such instances in the future? I’ve never had to deal with the frustrations and exhaustions of my work while someone who cared about me was present. I would like to avoid making your work unpleasant by being unprepared in the future.”

“Works for me.” Duck stands toe to toe with him, begins undoing Indrid’s tie, “anythin you need before hittin the hay?”

“No, thank you. Ah, I should also apologize for calling you ‘good boy.’ I don’t know if this happens to you, but when my mind isn’t fully present in a moment, I know I ought to say something and what that something should convey, but the actual, appropriate term escapes me. So I called you that when I was trying to say I appreciated you, not realizing until it was too late that it made you uncomfortable.”

“Yep, uh, that’s, uh, fuck, exactly, uh, how it feels, fuck, don’t feel any kinda way but a bad-ish one.” Duck’s hands drop to his sides, fingers flexing anxiously. 

Indrid blinks at him. The turning away, the flush, the tensing...they couldn’t possibly mean that, could they? 

“Do you like it when I call you that?” Indrid asks gently.

A nod.

“Would you like me to add that to the pet names I use?” He cocks his head.

“No, I mean, yeah, but I don’t think I could handle it. ‘Drid, it ain’t just the name that was doin things to me tonight.”

“What else was there?” 

Duck stares at his shoes. Indrid focuses on the future for a moment, then tilts Duck’s chin up with his finger. 

“What else. Was there?” His clipped tone barely covers his rapid heartbeat. 

“I, I, fuck, ‘Drid, don’t look at me like that. I been hard for the last fuckin hour and I’m pretty sure these boxers are beyond savin now.” 

“Really?” Indrid arches an eyebrow, brings his other hand up to stroke Duck’s cheek, “And what got you so worked up, my pet?”

“You. I’ve wanted you for months, ‘Drid, but tonight, havin you order me around, treat me like what I’m here for is lookin after you and nothing else, I ain’t been that turned on in long time.”

“Months, you say? That means you’ve had your eye on me since before the arrangement.” A twin flush to Ducks own creeps up his skin at the thought.

“Uh huh. Didn’t seem right to bring it up when you were a guest at the park, and once we entered into all this, it, it ain’t in the contract.”

“We can alter the contract, if this is truly what you want.”

“Fuck, so much, I want you to fuck me darlin, or let me fuck you, or, or-”

Indrid rests a thumb on his lips and Duck stops speaking instantly.

“Oh, I like that _very_ much.” He purrs, “You obedient and wanting.”

“It ain’t makin you uncomfortable, or fuckin up our bargain?” Duck mumbles.

“Duck Newton, you are a charming, affectionate man whose body I would dearly like to explore. I want this so very much. We can figure out the details when we return home. For tonight, I am trusting you to tell me if something is too much, and that you will only do things with me because you want to. Agreed?” He lowers his hand so Duck can speak.

“Agreed, but only if you promise to do the same, okay?”

Indrid nods, then adds, “Any parts of you I should not touch?”

“Nope. You?” 

“None. However” he catches Duck’s hand as fingers brush his waist, “you are only permitted to touch when _I_ say so.”

“ _Fuck_ that’s hot.”

“And you will do whatever I say. Any disobedience will result in punishment, unless it is accompanied by you saying ‘red’ or ‘yellow.’ Understood?”

“Yeah.” Duck is grinning like he just won the lottery. 

“In that case” Indrid leans in close, hears the gasp as Duck parts his lips. He stops with the tiniest bit of distance between their mouths, and whispers, “draw me a bath.”

The surprise on Duck’s face is so badly concealed he laughs, “What, my pet, did you think you were going to get off right away?”

“Maybe.” Duck mutters, blushing harder at the chiding toe.

Indrid kisses his forehead, “That’s for being honest. Now, go. And you are only allowed to remove your jacket, tie, shoes, and socks for the time being.”

Duck leaves his sight and soon the splash of water fills the room. Indrid strips down to his underwear, pulls on his pink and gold dressing robe, and walks in to find a tub full of sweet-smelling bubbles.

“They had free bubble bath, figured you’d like that.” 

“Good boy. Now, turn around.”

Duck spins his back to him, and Indrid tosses the robe aside and this underwear out the door. Sets his glasses safely on the counter. Sighs as he settles into the tub and decrees, “you can turn around now, pet.”

When Duck does, Indrid chuckles at how his gaze immediately falls on the water, trying to see beneath the screen of bubbles. 

Then something odd happens; Duck’s gaze flicks up to his face, then stays there, awestruck.

“You’re staring, my sweet.”

“Sorry. Guess I ain’t ever seen you without your glasses for more’n a few seconds. Feels kinda special. Like you trust me.”

The words are earnest, shy, and affection blooms and stains Indrid’s heart.

He holds out his hand, “Come here and kneel by me.”

Duck drops onto the shiny tile, bringing his face level with Indrid’s. Indrid cups his cheek, leaning over the side and kissing him. 

A ceramic thud signals Duck’s hands gripping the edge of the tub as he kisses back. The kiss is tender and messy, Indrid needing to show just how much he trusts him, needing him to know that Indrid’s want has been simmering in him for months as well. He cups his cheeks, deepens the kiss, feels a hint of five o’ clock shadow beneath his fingers. 

“Indrid” the word is breathless, shaky, and when he looks down he sees Duck’s hands fighting to stay put. 

“It’s alright Duck, you may touch me back.” No sooner do the words pass from his lips to Duck’s than the rangers hands clasp behind his head. 

“Christ, darlin, ‘Drid.” Duck brushes their noses together as Indrid unceremoniously yanks two more buttons of his shirt open, dampening the fabric and giving him access to that strong chest. Duck shudders as he paws him, moans into kiss after kiss, but keeps his hands where they are, as if afraid letting go will mean losing Indrid entirely. 

In the flurried heat of the kiss, Indrid doesn’t notice he’s been leaning back until Duck nearly topples into the tub.

“Careful, pet, can’t have you getting wet.” They’re both giggling, stealing kisses between sounds.

“Ships sailed on that one, sugar, in more ways than one. And I’ll climb in there in my full fuckin suit if that’s what you want.”

Indrid kisses his nose, “No need for that. I would, however, like you to rub my feet. I’ve been pacing a great deal and they hurt.”

“Sure thing.” Duck scoots down until he’s at the foot of the tub, and Indrid props his right heel up on the edge.

Indrid waits a count of thirty, savoring the gentle pressure, before adding, “I am going to touch myself while you do that.”

There’s a moan of anticipation, Duck biting his lip as he looks at him. 

“You do not get to watch.” Indrid says coolly. 

Duck opens his mouth, then quickly closes it again. 

“Instead, you will continue doing what you’re doing, keeping your eyes on your task the entire time. If you manage to not peek, not even once, I will give you the best head of your life.”

“Sound real confident there.” Duck smirks, eyes firmly on the arch of Indrid’s foot. 

“I am aware I can be a human mess at times, but some things are worth doing with precision. Mmmmm, goodness that feels nice.” His hand circles his cock, half-hard from kissing, and strokes slowly. He hums and moans in pleasure, watching Duck carefully. The other man occasionally pauses to rub his thighs together, or to re-roll his already wet sleeve, but doesn’t look up.

Indrid switches tempos, puts more force behind his strokes so that the water noticeably splashes and ripples in time with his hand. 

When he props his left foot up for Duck to start on, the ranger runs a thumb along the pad as he asks, “I get to know what you’re thinkin about?”

“Why, isn’t it obvious, my pet? I’m thinking about you. About burying my head between those lovely, thick thighs, about watching that perfect ass bounce as I jam my cock into it over and over, about holding a vibrator against you until you’ve come so many times you weep, about, oh, oh goodness, how wonderful it would be to have you fuck me with the cock of your choosing.”

“Fuck.” Duck whimpers, curling forward and holding Indrid’s foot tight. 

Indrid shuts his eyes, feels himself getting close as he leans back, “Yes, pet, ex-exactly, I’m picturing every possible way for us to do that, oh, I am going to spoil you, absolutely ruin you oh, oh _Duck_.”

He comes with a sharp gasp, notices Duck’s hands have ceased moving at all. Opens his eyes in the aftershocks, and finds him frozen, staring longingly in the direction of his cock.

“What did I instruct you not to do?”

“Sorry.” 

“You don’t look it.”

“Cause I'm only half sorry.”

Indrid tsks his tongue, “well then, you won’t be getting off from any part of my body tonight.”

Duck whines, even as the blush on his cheek reignites. 

“Go wait for me on the bed. Do not disrobe.”

“Can I at least jack off on my own while I wait?” Duck stands, wobbles, and takes a deep breath.

“No.” Indrid points imperiously, and Duck goes. 

He gets out, drains the tub and dries off. Finds his robe and ties it on. 

When he walks into the bedroom, Duck is flat on his back, eyes shut, whispering to himself to keep his urges under control. 

“Pinus contorta, Pinus nigra maritima, Pinus sylvestris….”

“Good boy, following orders.”

“Uh huh, fuck, Indrid, please, I’ll be so good, let me cum, please-”

Indrid lifts one of the many pillows from the bed and drops it unceremoniously into Duck’s lap.

“You may use that to come. Nothing else.”

“O-okay.” Duck’s eyes are wide, his expression desire and docility rolled into one. 

“I may join you on the bed, or I may not.”

(He is absolutely going to, but the threat makes Duck whimper delightfully).

He turns to the small dresser, pretends to examine his outfit for tomorrow. Small huffs and groans gradually float over his shoulder. Using the mirror, (a bedroom item he has never enjoyed until this exact moment), he sees Duck on his side, facing the center of the bed, pillow pressed firmly between his legs, hips moving in short, frantic bursts. He’s restraining himself.

That won’t do at all. 

“Pet, it seems like you’re not enjoying yourself much. I can always take the pillow back…”

“No, fuck, Indrid, please, I’m gettin close, you’ve had me so wound up sugar, please don’t make me stop-” Duck moans, Indrid’s words spurring him to grind against the pillow hard enough to shake the bed.

“There we go, that’s more like it.” Indrid coos, crawling onto the bed and laying to face Duck, “It’s alright to let go, my sweet. I adore watching you enjoy yourself.” He brushes Duck’s hair from his eyes, finds them wet, takes in his rumpled clothes, his ragged panting, “My, my, so lovely, seeing how needy you are, how much of a mess you become, and all because of you. Shall I give you permission to cum, my dear?”

“Yes, please god yes, fuck, Indrid, darlin, please _please_.”

“You may cum, pet.”

“Fuck, thank you, thankyouthankyoumphhh” Duck holds tight to Indrid’s robe with his free hand as Indrid attacks his lips with kisses. He goes taut with a whimper, relaxes with a groan, hips jolting weakly.

Indrid gingerly pulls the pillow away and chucks it off the bed, Duck cuddling closer once he does. 

“Sweet baby christ, just came so hard I can’t feel my legs.”

Indrid laughs, then pauses, “That is a good thing, right?”

“So fuckin good. Was, uh, was that what you wanted?” He nuzzles Indrid’s cheek.

“All and more so.” He pets dark hair, murmurs, “Is there anything I can get you, my sweet? Aftercare you need?”

Duck thinks for moment, “Water would be nice, And I’m gonna get out of these clothes, because they got a lot of, uh, fluids on ‘em, and rinse off”

“I shall return with water.” Indrid kisses him sweetly, then climbs out of bed. He fills a water glass, detours into the main room to grab the band t-shirt and boxers Duck sleeps in. Sets them on the bathroom counter as Duck showers. 

When the other man wanders back in a few minutes later, Indrid flips the covers back on the bed, patting the mattress. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive. That is, if you wish to join me I would not mind.”

Duck hops into bed and opens his arms, Indrid nestling into them with a content sigh. 

“You’re still feeling alright?”

“Realizin I’m kinda glad you asked me to sleep here with you. Feel a little, uh, exposed after that scene.” Duck tucks the blankets around them.

“Understandable. I hope you know whatever comfort or care you need, I will provide.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

Indrid links their hands, resting them against his chest. They’ve trusted each other with so much tonight. And that gives him the confidence to trust Duck with one thing more. 

“I was not entirely truthful earlier, about why I was on edge.”

“Oh?” Duck seems sleepy rather than nervous. 

“I have a certain set of abilities, ones that many people think are impossible. I am able to, to” he shuts his eyes, “to see the future. Not all of it, not every detail, but some.”

When he dares to peek, Duck is watching him intently. 

“My powers are strongest in regards to love and romantic relationships. When someone asks about them, it’s like a path of colored stones lighting up in the dark. I can hop from stone to stone easily, follow the outcomes, see what is likely to happen. With all other events, I get flashes. Or a path lights up and if I concentrate, I can follow it. Today, I foresaw a disaster one town over; a gas leak would cause a pipe to burst near the freeway, resulting in a dozen fatalities. I kept seeing it over and over, I even called the people I thought could address it, but none of them listened to me. Mercifully, the leak was caught by a passing maintenance crew. That was one of the least likely futures, but good god am I glad it was the one that happened.”

Duck looks at him, puzzled, and he sighs, “You don’t believe me. It’s alright, I wouldn’t either.”

“Never said that. Just tryin to process what has got to be the weirdest pillow talk I’ve ever heard. It does sound far-fetched, but, well, I don’t got any reason to not believe you.”

He can tell Duck is skeptical but trying for his sake, and so he concentrates.

“In thirty seconds, the phone will ring, and it will be McShane asking if I’m up.”

Duck flips over to look at the phone for the longest thirty seconds of Indrid’s life. When it rings, the ranger picks it up.

“Hello? No, this is Duck. Yeah, he’s asleep, because it’s damn near midnight. You oughta be too. Goodnight.”

When he turns back he simply says, “I’ll take that proof. Christ, that means you were watchin people die all day. No wonder you were so fuckin stressed.”

“Still, that is not an excuse for how short I was with you.”

“No, but now we know we got another thing to factor into our plannin for when you have bad days.” Duck smooths down his pajamas, kisses his neck and rests his head under Indrid’s chin, “If I’m your ‘boyfriend’ think that means I get to help you deal with that shit. Y’know, as part of the arrangement.”

“Indeed.” Indrid couldn't care less about the arrangement right now. All that matters is that Duck, his Duck, his Duck who believes him, is warm and happy here in his arms. 

“And ‘Drid? Thanks for trustin me enough to tell me about that. It means a lot.”

“Thank you for being worthy of that trust.” He kisses the top of his head.

“See this is why I call you ‘sugar;' because you get so sappy.” Duck plants a playful kiss on his shoulder and yawns. 

“You bring it out in me. Goodnight, my sweet.”

“Night, sugar.” 

He wants to whisper another set of words as Duck falls asleep, the kind containing a four letter word that he could never take back. But he is tired and still floating on endorphins from sex, knows better than to make life-altering statements under either of those conditions. 

They’re not in love. They’re not even dating. This is just an arrangement, just business, now with a bonus element of pleasure. 

This will all be fine.


	4. All Shook Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned throws a party. Indrid does his job. Duck helps.

Duck whistles as he walks up the driveway, smiling when he spots the new plants by the front door. Indrid has asked him what he could plant that was both native and brightly colored, and has obviously listened to his recommendations. 

He lets himself in (“here’s a key, my sweet, in case you beat me home some days”), and makes it to the kitchen before he hears Indrid.

“Mr. McShane, while it seems to be causing you an inordinate amount of displeasure, my answer remains the same.”

“That’s bullshit, you can’t just give us a result like this.”

“I can. In fact, that’s why you hired me. I foresee your son and this young man being incredibly happy together, and am even willing to help you arrange an initial meeting, something I do not usually offer.”

“My son is not marrying that kind of person.” 

“Jesus.” Duck mutters, grabbing a beer from the fridge and heading for the patio. Whatever is going on in there, Indrid probably prefers he not eavesdrop. 

He sits, watching the bay and the city in the evening light. Indrid doesn’t indulge in many rich people things (except when it comes to buying them for Duck). Duck’s happy one of them is a house on the edge of the public lands with an incredible view.

A bang of the front door tells him McShane is gone, and he makes his way to Indrid’s office. The taller man is seated as his desk, glaring at a selection of images, some drawings and some photos. 

“Want me to start bein' a bouncer as well as a boyfriend?” Duck asks with a smile.

“Not in the least.” Indrid’s frown disappears as soon as he looks at Duck.

“What was his problem anyway?”

“I found an excellent match for his son. Ruben Mendoza, age 27, up and coming screenwriter, who I foresee being incredibly happy with Patrick McShane. Unfortunately, the elder McShane takes issue with my selection.”

Duck looks at the profile of Ruben, written in Indrid’s scrawling hand, and rolls his eyes, “Lemme guess, it’s the ‘Mendoza’ part that’s got him pissed.”

“Precisely. I wouldn’t mind, as it’s not the first time I’ve made a match that the parents were not thrilled with in the beginning. But Mr. McShane has made it clear he will do everything in his power to prevent me from even getting the match started. As in, keeping his son away from any event that Ruben may attend. He even gave me several names of men who would be disastrous partners for Patrick, trying to convince me to suggest those instead.”

“What an asshole.”

“Agreed, though that really only confirms what we already knew about him.” A grin creeps across Indrid’s face, “Of course, he paid me to find a husband for his son. Not follow his exact orders. And it would be terrible of me to leave a job undone.”

“I Like where this is goin'.” Duck drapes an arm around his shoulder.

The grin widens, “In that case, my pet, how would you like to help me prevent a disaster?”

\---------------------------------------

A week later, Duck is at the first giant, fancy house that he really enjoys. It’s the residence of one of the few people at the parties who actually seems to be Indrid’s friend, and who can tell a decent story. The mansion is garish inside and out, crammed with pricey items that actually make sense to Duck as things to spend money on; good paintings, fancy clothes that also look comfy, even one or two rare plant specimens. 

Their host meets them before they’re even through the living room. 

“Indrid, wonderful to see you my dear boy! And you as well, Duck”

“Likewise, Ned. I always look forward to your annual summer party.”

“It’s my pleasure to host the cream of society in my humble home.”

“And schmooze ‘em for money.”

Duck glances up the stairs as a tall man, dressed in far more black than Ned, saunters down them.

“But of course, dear Boyd. What else are they for?” He kisses Boyd’s hand, an incongruous gesture given that the other man looks like he could snap any of them in half. 

“On that note, did you get my message about the last minute addition to the guest list?”

“I did indeed. And it has remained completely secret, or my name isn’t Ned 'Discretion' Chicane. Ah, more guests are arriving. If you’ll excuse me, gentleman.” Ned moves to the door while Duck and Indrid make their way to the backyard, where a band is already in full swing. 

“Ned is that Ned? The guy who owns the tourist trap up on highway one? How the fuck does he afford this place. Or is tall dark and intimidatin' back there the one with all the cash.”

“I’ve learned it’s best not to ask, though I suspect that some of the money came from picking the pockets of the very people who now clamor for an invitation to one of the most talked about parties of the season. Boyd is just his partner in crime. OOooh, a chocolate fountain!” Indrid takes a hard right towards the food. 

“Duck! Indrid! Hi!” Aubrey, decked out in her full magician outfit, waves at them from a raised stage. 

“Hey, Aubrey. Ned hired you for the party?” Duck takes the glass Indrid hands him. 

“Yep. Ned hires me every year, and pays double my normal rate. He knows why, AH! Dr. Harris Bonkers don't eat that!” She dashes away, prying a piece of flash paper from the mouth of a large, white rabbit. 

The party picks up and Duck sees why Indrid actively enjoys attending Ned’s shindigs. This party is less concerned with seeming tasteful and more concerned with being brash and enjoyable. Mr. McShane, who enters shortly after Duck and Indrid get settled in lawn chairs to watch Aubrey perform, has the look of a man who is only at this party because he knows there will be talk if he isn’t. Patrick looks far more enthused.

Duck is laughing at some bullshit story Ned is telling them when the older man looks towards the house and then back at Indrid. 

“Boyd just gave the signal.”

“That’s your cue and mine, my pet.” Indrid kisses his cheek, and slips through the crowd towards the door. Duck turns towards Patrick, being kept on an obviously short leash by his father. 

“Howdy there, uh, Patrick.” Duck sidles up to him. 

“Oh, hey, um Duck right?”

“That’s me. Wanted to talk to you about somethin. See, Indrid’s been busy, and I got a look at your file. I got just the fella for you. Now, don’t tell Indrid I told you nothin about this, cause what we’re about to talk about is gonna be unpopular with at least one person at this party. I got a cousin I think you’d really, fuck, uh, get along with. He’s the only one even vaguely related to the Newtons to go the Harvard.”

He plays up the sneak factor, even winking, so that Mr. McShane’s gaze slips off him with a little conspiratorial nod. 

“He...wants to matchmake me with your cousin?” Patrick looks unconvinced. 

“Walk with me, gonna be easier to not be overheard if we’re movin.” Duck ushers the younger man back into the crowd, looks over his shoulder to find Mr. McShane not paying attention to them in the slightest.

“Look, Duck, I appreciate the help, but I was already a little weirded out by all this. If anyone else tries to set me up on date with a guy who looks like Rolf from _The Sound of Music_ , I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

“Jesus, your dad’s been doin' that even after he hired ‘Drid?”

“I never want to hear about app development or stocks ever again.”

Duck chuckles, “How about indie film or magical realism?”

“Those are...oddly specific. Accurate to my interests, but still. Specific.”

They make a crescent path into a more secluded corner of the patio and Duck announces, “I think you and this fella will get along fine.”

“Did you fly your cousin out here to…” 

It’s a comedic moment to witness. Patrick notices Ruben, standing beside Indrid and talking animatedly, and his mouth hangs open for a beat. Ruben notices them, and his eyes barely register Duck or, indeed, anything that isn't Patrick.

“Ah, this is the young man I was telling you about. Ruben, meet Patrick McShane.”

“Hey.” Ruben waves, still not looking anywhere but Patrick. 

“H-hi.” Patrick breathes out. Then he turns to Duck, “wait, so your cousin-”

“Is a prick who’s safely in Vermont somewhere. Had to get you away from the old man somehow. Think you can guess why.”

“Oh, that _dick_.” Patrick glares over his shoulder. 

“There is a rather pleasant spot just in the far right corner of the rose garden. Very secluded, excellent for conversation.” Indrid smiles, inclining his head towards a circle of junipers interspersed with roses. 

“May I?” Ruben holds out a hand, and Patrick takes it.

“Damn, sugar.” Duck watches the happy couple disappear into the crowd, “You are good.”

“I have my moments.” He smirks over the rim of his glass, raises it to the impotently fuming elder McShane across the yard. 

“Should we-”

“He won’t try anything, now or in the future. He knows he’s been outmaneuvered, and that Ned is an actual friend of mine who will remove him if he makes a fuss.” Indrid finishes his drink, turns a very different smile on Duck. 

“Wait a count of thirty, and then follow me inside. First left, a right, then the second door on your left.”

Duck’s about to open his mouth to ask why, when Indrid arches an eyebrow, expression setting into an imperious one. 

He stays silent, counts thirty Mississippis before walking into the house. Gets to the door he was directed to, and quietly calls Indrid’s name. 

The door opens, and Indrid takes his hand, yanking him inside what appears to be a guest room. He gets no chance to investigate as Indrid crowds him against the door, flicking the lock shut as he does. 

“You did marvelously, pet.” 

“Didn’t do much, other than figure out how to say all that without technically lyin.”

“Splendid all the same.” Indrid purrs, kisses trailing along his jaw and and fingers of his right hand undoing Duck’s fly, “And deserving of a reward.”

“W-what d’you have in mi- _shit_.” Indrid drops to his knees, yanking Duck’s slacks and underwear down with him before tucking his glasses into his breast pocket.   
Indrid drags his tongue along Duck’s inner thigh, then makes a row of kisses from one hip to the other, sighing happily as he nuzzles Duck’s skin. 

“I have been imagining this all day.” He reaches Ducks left hip and bites down lightly. Then his head dips quickly between his legs, mouth closing around Duck’s dick. He gasps, presses his lips together to keep a much louder sound from escaping. 

When his hands touch pale hair, Indrid pulls back, gazing up reproachfully. 

“Did I give you permission to touch me?”

“No.” Duck squeaks.

“Hands against the door, pet. If they don’t stay there, I will stop.”

Duck’s hands slam against the door and Indrid chuckles, teasing Duck’s fold with his tongue. 

“Good boy. And already so wet for me.”

“‘Drid, please.” Duck’s knees are threatening to rebel and send him to the ground from sheer anticipation. 

Indrid dives forward, bringing his whole dick into his mouth and sucking it relentlessly.

“Shit, yes, yes sugar, thank you.” He forces his voice to stay a whisper, unsure of how well traveled the hallway behind him is. 

There’s a purr, and then two fingers slip inside him, curling and pressing. 

“Fuck! Oh fuck, yeah, oh darlin that’s so fuckin good, fuck, suck like that again, pleaseah _fuckme_ ” two more fingers slide in and the pressure, combined with Indrid’s clever tongue, pushes him towards the edge. 

Indrid pauses, “I see those hands.”

Duck’s hands are indeed coming away from the door as he twitches, and he slams them back down with enough force to shake the walls. 

“Much better, pet.” Indrid works his hand harder, no longer sucking but licking instead and Duck comes, whimpering at the ceiling. 

As he pants, Indrid kisses his belly and carefully guides his clothes back up. In spite of Indrid steadying him, he slumps onto the floor, head quickly nestling on Indrid’s shoulder.

“You’re so fuckin amazin.”

“Flattery is much appreciated, my sweet. But I’m afraid we have a problem.”

Duck glances down and grins, “Think I know how to fix that.” He palms Indrid through his pants and the other man shudders, arms wrapping around him. 

“You’re heading in the right direction, but time is also of essence, as we’ll soon hit a point where others notice we are missing. And we need to avoid getting to, ah, stained.”

“Seems like you got a plan.” Duck kisses his neck. 

“Lay on your back.” Indrid kisses him once, quickly, and the Duck flops back onto the polished floor. 

Indrid crawls on top of him, straddling him and bringing his knees to rest near Duck’s ears. His grin is obscene as he undoes his fly and watches Duck’s eyes follow first the path of the zipper, and then the motion of Indrid’s hand as he frees his cock, pants down just enough to keep them clear of Ducks mouth. 

He’s certain he’s looking at Indrid like a dog being offered a bone. He doesn’t care in the slightest. He’s also very glad they each got tested, if he’s correctly guessing Indrid’s plan. 

Indrid cups his head with one hand, guides his cock to brush against his lips with the other,“You are going to open your mouth, and I am going to fuck that handsome face _very_ hard and _very_ fast, and you are going to swallow everything I give you. Give our signal if anything becomes uncomfortable. And yes” his grin goes from hungry to sweet and right back to hungry again as he continues, “you may touch me.”

“Thank you sug-” Is all he gets out before Indrid’s cock is in his mouth, pushing at but not breaking breaking the resistance of his throat. 

“Ohhhhhh yes” Both of Indrid’s hands now cup the back of his head, “yes my pet, relax, there we are.”

Duck glows at the praise, lets his head and jaw relax even as he Indrid thrusts violently into his mouth. His hands scrabble up the fabric covering Indrid’s legs until he’s able to grip that rather flat but still perfect ass. 

“ _Yes_ , yesyes, oh Duck, goodness, yes, such a lovely mouth and all mine.” Indrid’s praise gets less coherent the more erratic his movements become, and Duck savors the sight of him growing flustered, unbothered by the spit seeping from the corners of his mouth and Indrid starts to tense under his hands. 

“So good, so lovely pet, yes, yesoh, ohhhh, that’s it, thaaat’s it, swallow it all down like a good boy.” 

Duck obeys, keeps lapping at him until he pulls all the way out, Indrid taking care to lower Duck’s head to the floor. He tucks himself back into his pants, and helps Duck to his feet. 

“Are you alright, my sweet?”

“Feel like a million bucks, sugar. No, uh, anythin anywhere on me?”

“You appear clean as fallen snow.” Indrid pokes his head out the door, then opens it all the way and takes Duck’s arm as he offers it. 

They make it down the hall, then nearly collide with Boyd as they turn a corner. 

“Sorry, gents, was just goin to grab some fresh ice from the kitchen” Boyd’s eyes flick over them, “Indrid, might wanna put your glasses back on”

“Oh, goodness, so I do.” He slips them on hurriedly. 

As the garden comes into view, Ned passing them on his way to schmooze some late arrivers, Duck hears an English accent say glibly, “Edmund, we’ll need to have that second guest room cleaned a bit more than usual this week.”

\---------------------------------------------

Indrid plucks a blossom from the honeysuckle growing near his front door, inhales the sweet scent as he dances into the house. He dropped Duck off at home on their way back from Ned’s, since the ranger had work early the next day.

Oh, that reminds him. He pulls out his phone. 

_Indrid: Home safe. Thank you for a wonderful time, my sweet._

_Duck: Glad to hear it. Thanks for taking me out sugar. I’ll see you next Saturday like scheduled, let me know if you want to meet up earlier. Night <3_

Is his next appointment with Duck really not for another week? Maybe Duck can accompany him to the de Young at some point during the week. They have a new photography exhibit the younger man might like. 

This train of thought is why he does not immediately notice the trio of figures sitting on his couch, drinking the bottle of Pinot Noir he keeps on hand for when Barclay comes to dinner (“Indrid, I know you hate bitter tastes, but serving steak with Mountain Dew is an abomination”). 

When he does notice them, he scuttles back against the kitchen table, sixteen years of very specific fight or flight reflexes kicking in all at once. 

“What the hell are you doing here?

“Catching up on some old business.” The man in the middle sets his glass down, never looking away from Indrid, “But come on now, Indrid; is that any way to greet your father?”


	5. One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid pulls an all nighter. Duck follows a hunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: It's implied in this chapter that Indrid's father financially took advantage of him and has a history of stalking him.

“Out.” Indrid points at the front door. 

“I raised you better than that young man.”

“Like hell you did! Leave, now, or I am calling the police.” He stands as straight as he can, eyeing the two men flanking his father and desperately trying to look at the future to see what they might do. Recognizes one of them as his uncle, a lawyer of the sleaziest variety. 

“To tell them what? That your father let himself in for a visit using a key you had made?”

“I did no such thing, you had to have forced the door.” 

His father holds up a key, “Of course not, you gave me a copy, remember?”

Indrid remembers; he remembers his apartment in Oakland getting the same treatment, his father having hired someone to pull an illegal cast of his lock. That suggests the other man is burglar or something similar. 

Fear fights with pure rage in his body, and in trying to reconcile them he manages to spit out, “Just leave me alone!”

“Why? Look at this place, it’s so empty. And rather less than you could afford, which tells me you still haven’t learned the value of your talents.”

“Of course, why would this be about anything else?” Indrid shakes his head, “One moment.” 

He pats down his pockets, pulling out his phone, keys, wallet, and the checkbook that Duck always teases him for carrying. The one he only ever uses for this. Scrawls an amount, signs his name, and slides it across the table. 

“Bring it here.”

“If you think I’m getting any closer, you’ve got another thing coming.”

His father shrugs, crosses the living room and picks up the check. 

Indrid’s phone buzzes, and he’s not fast enough to stop his father from seeing the message. 

_Duck: Forget to tell you, been seeing more of that Golden Eagle lately, if you want to try and draw him. Can give you details tomorrow. Goodnight for real, sugar <3_

His father looks at him and snorts, “well, managed to break your ‘curse’ son?”

“Out.” He hisses; the thought of the man even reading Duck’s name makes him see a dozen new shades of red. 

The older man pockets the check, nods to his companions, “Alright son, we’ll get out of your hair. God bless, say your prayers.” 

“Fuck you.” Indrid can’t shut and lock the door fast enough, throwing the deadbolt with relief. 

Then a new fear sprints through his system, and he races down the hall to his office. If the man knew enough to make the key, he knew enough to get into Indrid’s files. 

He knows his laptop is safe; Stern taught him to secure it properly. And although he checks it just in case, the contents of his fire-proof wall safe are untouched. Ned showed him where to place and how to secure it to keep anyone, even a trained thief, from noticing it or getting in.

Unsure if his client files and records have been picked open, he has no choice but to go through them, checking them against his digital records. It will take all night. 

This is not a problem, as he’ll be unable to sleep anyway. 

He picks up his phone, flipping to Duck’s number. Maybe the ranger can come over. He wouldn’t need to help Indrid with the files, even just knowing he was in the house, having him close, would be infinitely better than this. Really, even if all Duck could manage is to talk to him on the phone for a bit, that would make him feel safer. 

Then he stops. 

Duck isn’t really his boyfriend. And dealing with this certainly isn’t in the contract. 

He’s gotten too swept up, and that could ruin the good relationship he has. He is, after all, cursed.

Instead, he texts Barclay.

_Indrid: He showed up again._

As he waits for a response--which he sees Barclay already typing--he takes a deep breath. 

It’s better this way. Even without the contract, Duck doesn’t deserve to have his life tainted by this part of Indrid’s own. 

It’s better this way. 

\---------------------------------------------------

“How much did he give you?”

“Ten grand. Not bad. That contract idea was the best you’ve ever had; makes him remember who he owes all his success to. And take a look at this, I found it in his desk.” Indrid’s father slides a form from his inside pocket, “The young man in it is going to be our main stop tomorrow.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Duck lounges on the couch after work, catching up on Netflix and resting his feet after spending most of the day in the woods. He hasn’t heard from Indrid all day, but that’s not unusual. Sometimes he’s swamped with meetings, sometimes he spaces out, and sometimes he just needs time to himself to draw. 

So when there’s a knock on the door, he wonders if it will be a certain pale-haired man coming to see him. 

Instead, it’s a man in a dark suit with a smile that seems vaguely familiar. 

“Are you Duck Newton?”

“Yeeeah?” 

“I’m here as a legal representative of Indrid Cold.”

Duck’s whole body goes cold, “Fuck, is he okay? Did somethin happen?”

The man holds up a hand, “He is fine. He has, however, decided he wishes to terminate this agreement.” From his briefcase, he produces the paper copy of the arrangement.

“But...but why? Did I do somethin?” Duck braces his hand on the door frame as the world tilts. 

“The contract says either of you can terminate it at any time for any reason.”

“I know but, jesus, we saw each other last night. It seemed like we were fine.”

“Mr. Cold has decided such an arrangement is unbecoming for him. He asks you not to contact him anymore, and to block his information in the event he has a moment of, shall we say, weakness.”

“He don’t even want to hear from me?” Duck’s voice sounds pitiful, even to his own ears. 

“That is correct. Here is my card. Good day, Mr. Newton.” The man dips his head politely, and heads back down the stairway.

Duck stares at the words _F. Ash_ as he shuts the door and plods miserably back into his apartment. 

On the street below, a white Cadillac opens its doors, and Abe Ash looks at his brother. 

“Well?”

“Kid bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Duck watches the white car drive off from his window. 

He ought to be panicking at the lost income, ought to be hurt by the abruptness. Mostly though, he’s sad from the reminder that what he and Indrid have is a business arrangement, not a romantic relationship. 

Behind the sorrow, however, the voice of reason keeps knocking on his skull. 

Because he knows Indrid’s lawyer is named Janelle. 

And, more importantly, real boyfriend or not he’s gotten to know Indrid intimately these past few months. This is not how the Indrid he knows would handle something like this. 

He dashes down the stairs to his car. He has to know. If Indrid turns him away, locks him out, whatever, he’ll stay gone. 

But the nagging feeling in his gut tells him that if he doesn’t try, he’ll regret it forever. 

As he pulls up to the house, he spots a familiar car in the crescent driveway; Barclay’s Subaru. Then he passes the man himself coming up the walk. He’s never been happier to see him. 

“Oh, hey Duck, how-”

“Is ‘Drid okay?” 

“Uhhhh” Barclay scratches the back of his neck. He looks tired, “As okay as he can be. Me, Joe, and even Dani and Aubrey came over to help him with those files, but when I dropped off some dinner just now, he was passed out in bed.” Barclay smiles, sudden and genuine, “Don’t think he’ll mind a visit from you though. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. He kept saying he didn’t wanna bug you at work but...well, let’s just say I’ve know Indrid Cold long enough to know when he’s hiding something.”

“He didn’t, I dunno, sound mad at me. Or like he didn’t wanna see me?”

“Nope.”

Duck looks towards the faintly lit house, hearten, “Thanks, man.”

“Any time.”

He lets himself in with the key, heads towards Indrid’s room, then doubles back for the container Barclay left on the counter. 

The door is shut and locked, so he knocks twice. There’s a rustle of bed sheets, and for good measure he adds, “Sugar? You okay?”

It’s a miracle the door doesn’t come off it’s hinges when Indrid yanks it open. Duck doesn’t even get a syllable out before Indrid is hugging him. 

“Goodness I’m glad you’re here.” He murmurs into Duck’s neck.

“That answers my question about whether you really called of the arrangement.” Duck chuckles, kissing his cheek. 

Indrid pulls away, face horrified confusion, “Why in the world would I do that?”

“According to this fella, you thought it was unbecomin’.” Duck produces the business card and Indrid’s face shows an emotion he’s never seen on him before.

Fury.

“I am going to kill that man.” The card crumples and Indrid drops it to the floor, stalking back towards the bed, dressing gown spinning around like a brightly colored tornado. 

“Hold up, who even is he?”

“My uncle. Which means he and my father had the _gall_ to drag you into this. I don’t even...oh, oh goodness, the contract, I kept it in my desk rather than in client files so we could alter it easily. He did go into my office, that, that rrrrgh.” Indrid sits on the edge of the bed, hands tangling in his hair. 

Duck sets the container on the dresser, sits beside him and runs a hand along his back comfortingly.

“I’m so sorry, Duck. I’m so sorry this touched you at all. I thought I could protect you, instead I, I almost lost you.” In the dark room, Duck can still see Indrid’s uncovered eyes glinting and wet. 

The ranger pulls him closer, “You don’t gotta explain if you don’t want. But if you tell me what's goin on, maybe I can help.”

Indrid’s hand fiddles with the front of Duck’s shirt, “I suppose there isn’t any point in trying to hide it. The first thing you should know is that my given name is not Indrid Cold. It was Issac Ash. My mother died in a card accident when I was very little, leaving me and my father alone. My father is a man of faith. Or, rather, he seems very convinced that there is a god who does things for a reason. And those reasons align exactly with my father’s own view of the world. When my powers manifested at age, hmmm, I think I was maybe seven? Regardless, when they manifested, he became convinced they were a gift from above to reward him.”

“ _Him_? They’re your fuckin powers.”

“A child must serve their father just as their father serves god.” Indrid parrots bitterly, “And so I did. My uncle even drew up a contract, had me re-sign it every year, stating that the majority of my earnings would belong to my father. He took me on the road, hoping my miraculous abilities would bring him fortune and fame. They didn’t. For one, as you know, they are limited in what they can accurately predict. Furthermore, I was a child. I had no skill in working with my powers, no one to teach me how to use them. When I produced angry customers again and again, my father began to seek some money on the side. Through, ah, illegal means. When he wasn’t also busy being angry at me. This was always framed as my fault, for being incapable and thus driving him to such behavior in order to provide for us.” 

“Oh, darlin.” He pets Indrid’s hair, “I’m so sorry.”

“I ran away when I was sixteen and. I worked odd jobs, changed my name, tried to master my powers, eventually ended up in Oakland where Mama was running the Lodge. I don’t know if she ever got the full details of how I ended up there, as I never shared some of them with her and Barclay keeps secrets well. All I do know is she kept me on, even though I was a terrible waiter, and set aside a room for me that she never charged me for.”

“Always liked Mama but christ, feel like oughta send her flowers or somethin now.”

A light laugh, “I wouldn’t, you know how she hates people making a fuss. I’ve tried several times to repay her. She’s never let me.”

“So your dad, did he follow you here?”

“He’s tracked me down three times. Always resurfacing like the shark he is. And yes.” Indrid smirks weakly up at him, “I know that is an insult to sharks.”

“They’re an important part of the ecosystem.” Duck mutters, secretly pleased Indrid remembered his commentary on sharks from a few weeks ago. 

“Would that the same could be said of him. He showed up last night. I paid him to go away, then spent every moment since then trying to be sure he didn’t grab any of my client’s information for his own purpose.”

“Barclay mentioned that. ‘Drid?” Duck’s hands stop their petting, “Why didn’t you call me for help? I woulda come over last night, or this mornin’.”

Indrid sighs heavily, sitting up and scooting a few inches away, “For the same reason I shouldn’t be having this conversation with you. This is not part of the arrangement, Duck. You agreed to be my date to events, to let me dote upon you a bit, and even to sleep with me when we both find that a pleasant thought. You did not agree to deal with my sordid past or my wretched family.”

Duck’s heart makes it’s second bid of the day to climb out his throat, “What if I wanted to, uh, to be the kind of boyfriend who did help you deal with those things?”

“You wish to alter the arrangement?”

“No, goofus. I’m sayin I wanna be in your life, deal with the good parts and the bad, without the arrangement. I wanna be your real boyfriend, with everythin' that involves.”

Indrid blinks at him, “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

“Because I love you, ‘Drid. I love you so goddamn much.”

There’s a flash of smile, and then Indrid looks down, hugging himself. 

“You are mistaken. You can’t be in love with me. We can’t be meant to be together in that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not meant to be in love! I, my powers, I have tried so many times to use them to find someone for myself and I can never see it. Where other people’s loves light up in paths I can follow, mine is dark. Always dark. Which means that I am not meant to find someone. I, I don’t deserve someone.”

Duck closes the distance between them, rests his hand on Indrid’s cheek.

“First off, kinda rude to tell a fella what he’s feelin ain’t real. Second of all, your powers are weird as shit. They got so many quirks, for all you know you gotta be standing on your head on a full moon to see the person who’s your match. And third, _fuck_ meant to be.”

“Duck, my entire career is based on meant to be.”

“It’s based on what could be. You see paths for people, partners, and you help ‘em get there. But there’s still a million fuckin moments where they could make different choices, where things could change. You said yourself you only deal in most likely matches, not guaranteed ones. But more than that, do you really think those people are happy together because it’s fate or destiny or some shit? Or do you think, once you help ‘em get there, what brings ‘em and keeps ‘em together is the choices they make everyday?”

Indrid is staring at him, does so for so long without saying anything that Duck fears he's insulted him. 

“I...suppose you’re right. I deal in timelines and probabilities so much, I sometimes forget that fate is not as unalterable as one might think.”

When he says nothing else, Duck removes his hand from his cheek. 

“‘Drid, if you don’t feel the same about me, I ain’t gonna be angry. Might be a little pissed with myself for gettin in over my head but-”

Indrid’s hand finding his own silences him. 

“I love you, Duck.”

He beams, “I love you too.”

Indrid blinks rapidly, sniffs with an embarrassed smile, “No one has ever said it back to me before.”

Duck grabs him and rolls so they’re side by side, kisses his nose, then each cheek, then his lips, as he repeats, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Indrid kisses back as best he can through the shuddery giggles, ends up with his head pressed to Duck’s chest and holding him so tight Duck finds a bruise the next morning. Close up, his face is as captivating as ever, but coated in exhaustion. 

“You wanna go back to bed, darlin?”

“Yes, please. You’ll, you’ll stay with me?”

“Course I will. C’mon, get cozy with me.” He kicks off his shoes, removes his pants, and, as he’s pulling his shirt over his head, gets caught in both the fabric and a thought. 

“Hang on, there’s no fuckin way that contract they had you sign is legal.”

“You’re quite right.” Indrid helps him escape from his green t-shirt, then adds, “And if I could get a copy, I’m certain I could prove that. But the sole copy remains with him, and I, well, I suppose it’s a long-ago instilled fear that makes me unwilling to chance turning him away without giving him some money, in case the contract is real.”

Duck hums, thoughtfully, and Indrid cocks his head.

“You seem to have an idea.”

“I got the shape of one. But we’re gonna need some help.”

\---------------------------

“You’re certain it’s a good idea inviting that Newton boy into our new abode?” Abe checks his reflection in the mirror.

“Yep. Given what the kid said, I think we may finally have a way to get more of my dear nephews earnings.”

A knock on the door, and when Frank calls “come in,” Duck Newton enters, looking tired. 

“Uh, thanks for agreein to meet with me.”

“My pleasure. You said you had something you wished to discuss about Mr. Cold’s finances?”

“Uh, yeah. See, since the contract’s done, I’m kinda short on cash. Sorry, uh, kinda thought we were gonna be discussin' this in private.” Duck peers past Frank to look at Abe.

“Where are my manners? Mr. Newton, this is my brother and associate, Abraham Ash. He too, has concerns about Mr. Cold’s approach to finances.”

“That so?”

“I do. You see, my brother has continued to represent Mr. Cold, but both of us feel he may be, shall we say, misusing his funds.”

“Yeah, I got some concerns about his money. And I’ll share ‘em with you, if, uh, if you can help me out?”

“How do you imagine us doing that?”

“By, uh, fuck. By helpin, uh, me confirm that there are other folks he’s been payin.”

Abe grins, “There are. You see, Mr. Cold has some things in his past he’d rather not come to light. And so he pays them to keep quiet.”

Duck looks uncomfortable, his eyes flicking around the room.

“I know that may be hard to accept, given how, ah, close you two became.”

“Gotta say, I already been learnin some troublin things these last few days. How much would I be able to get if I help you.”

Abe thinks, then realizes he hasn’t checked their books lately, so isn’t sure what he can pay their new informant.

“One moment.” 

He heads to the small bedroom of the apartment, and opens the false top of his briefcase. 

The next thing he knows, he’s hurrying back down to the living room. 

“Frank, ah, I’m afraid there’s been a slight hiccup. Mr. Newton, you may need to come back another time.”

For reasons that escape him, the young man smiles. 

“Y’know, on second thought, don’t think I need to waste my time on a couple dickheads like you.” He turns, looks at the front door, “You can come in now.”

As the door swings open, Abe counts four people walking into his apartment. One, a tall, older woman, has the contract in her hand.

“Oh no,” she looks up, “this is not even slightly enforceable. And I’ve half a mind to encourage Indrid to sue you for pain and suffering, but I suspect he’ll prefer the option where he does not have to see you.”

“What is this?” Abe snarls, whirling on Duck, only for two tall men, one bearded and one tattooed, and one young woman to step in front of him.

“Yeah, no, I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.” The young woman looks ready to hurl something at him, and he is not inclined to find out if she will. 

“Here’s the deal” the bearded man continues, “you two get the hell out of town, and never darken Indrid’s door again, and we won’t make your lives a living hell.”

“I doubt you could.”

The tattooed man chuckles, “Careful, we ain’t all as scared of you as Indrid was. And we ain’t all as gentle as him, neither.”

“We also ain’t as foolish as you thought. Seemed only fair to use me as the distraction to get that paper from you, since you had the fuckin nerve to try to use me to hurt ‘Drid.” Duck glowers at him, “Boyd here’ll be back tomorrow, to be sure you’re gone.”

They leave, slamming the door behind them. Abe still isn’t completely certain what just happened. 

But he knows when he’s been beaten.

\------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is pacing when Duck walks into the house, and nearly throws himself into the rangers arms when he sees him. 

“Well?”

“Plan worked like a charm. Ned got the contract on the first try while I was keepin ‘em occupied. Thought your old man was gonna shit his damn pants when he saw that paper in Janelle’s hand. It’s complete bullshit, by the way. No way to enforce it, probably null given how they got you to sign it in the first place. Ned says thanks by the way, for givin’ him a chance to scratch the itch in the name of good.”

Indrid takes a deep breath, then promptly collapses onto the ground.

“Oh shit.” Duck drops down to hug him.

“It’s, it’s alright my sweet. I am just overwhelmed. Both because the thing that has been following me like a rabid wolf my whole life has been dealt with in so many ways but, well, you, the others, you all went to the trouble of helping me.”

Duck kisses his forehead, “Yeah, because we love you. _I_ love you.”

Indrid makes the same little sigh he has every time Duck has said those words.

“Are, are you busy tomorrow?” The taller man whispers. 

“No, why?”

“Because,” Indrid tips his glasses up, cups Duck’s chin and kisses him, long and slow and hungrily, “I would very much like to take my boyfriend on a date.”


	6. Burning Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid and Duck attend a wedding. Then they host their own, private after-party.

The May air is foggy, a chilly breeze threatening the streets even as the sun fights to peek through the grey.

This does not dampen the spirits of the wedding party and attendees in the slightest. Gathered in the tea garden in Golden Gate Park, they tug on sweaters and continue smiling.

Indrid Cold sits towards the back during the ceremony, as he usually does. And, as usual, Duck Newton sits beside him. Their joined hands rest on Indrid’s thigh as they watch the proceedings. 

Patrick McShane and Ruben Mendoza stand at the end of the aisle, visibly jittery with excitement as they exchange their vows, then their rings (Indrid particularly approves of Ruben’s choice of a flashy red suit). When the small band begins playing and the couple hurries down the aisle to the applause of the crowd, Indrid is amazed that the pair doesn’t fall face first into a pond given that they don’t look where they’re going, too busy looking at each other. 

As the crowd stands, preparing to head to the reception, Duck leans to whisper in his ear, “You feelin like headin’ out, or is this one where you wanna hang around?”

“I’d very much like to stay awhile. How about you, pet?” 

Duck kisses his cheek, “Happy to stay and bask in your success, sugar.”

And so they head into the tea shop proper, taken over for the afternoon for festivities. Duck brings Indrid a drink, stays with his arm looped around Indrid’s waist as they make the rounds. 

Indrid knows there’s once again gossip about his love life, but this time he finds he minds it a lot less. Indeed, ever since Duck started coming with him last year, and especially since they did away with the arrangement, Indrid finds the public appearances needed for his job far more enjoyable. 

They’re caught up in a fascinating conversation with Ruben’s cousin about community resource coordination (Indrid, given that he did not want Duck to be afraid of missing rent but Duck felt odd about having his boyfriend paying for his living space, bought the apartment building and turned it over to the radical housing council to run), when the grooms come up to them. 

“Glad you could make it, Indrid! You too, Duck.” Patrick beams at them.

“I am glad to have been invited. And you chose a lovely location.”

“Dad kept lobbying for a hotel or country club.” Patrick groans while Ruben makes an exaggerated face of disgust. 

“I’m glad you prevailed.” Indrid smiles. 

“Look, Indrid, we, um,” Ruben looks at Patrick and blushes, “We realized never officially thanked you for introducing us. I, I mean, I don’t even know how we could ever thank you enough but just, seemed silly for us not to at least say a real ‘thank you.”

Indrid lets his expression go even softer as he says, “Seeing you two so happy is thanks enough. And proof of a job well done. Besides” he squeezes Duck’s hand, “I was merely the first brick; it’s you two who have built yourselves the foundation for what I foresee being a very happy marriage.”

The grooms smile brighter, and then each takes a turn hugging him. Rather than his usual stiffness at unfamiliar contact, he returns the embrace happily. 

As the pair continues to greet their guests, Duck whispers teasingly in his ear, “You’re getting downright fuzzy in your old age.”

Indrid turns to kiss him and then replies, “what can I say? You bring it out in me.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“Now, my pet, do you see why I bought you this harness?” Indrid reaches--albeit a bit awkwardly-- behind him, presses the magic wand against Duck’s cock even as he adjusts to being fully seated on the strap-on. 

“FUCK! Oh _fuck_ , uhhuh.” Duck nods, fingers tightening on Indrid’s hips, where they’ve been instructed to stay at all costs. 

“Now, here is how this will go, my love. I am going to edge myself on you, and if you are very good the entire time, I will do you the privilege of cumming on you and then getting you off with the wand”.

“Yes, fuck yes.” Duck bucks up into him and he takes a moment to moan before scolding, “stay still, pet. You are here for me to ride, nothing more." 

Duck groans, cheeks flushing deeper red, and Indrid bends forward to kiss him gently. Just because he enjoys tormenting him doesn’t mean he can’t show him how much he loves him at the same time. 

He rocks rather than bounces for the time being, enjoying how the toy fills him and the sight of Duck going to pieces beneath him. 

Indrid leans forward once again, kissing his boyfriend’s throat, “Mmmm, that’s it pet, you’re quite the picture. I think I’d like to add some color.”

“Wha-AHahfuck.” Duck arches as Indrid bites his shoulder, and his hands jolt down to grip Indrid’s ass. 

Indrid sits up, arms crossed even as Duck scrambles to put his hands back on his hips.

“You were doing so well pet.”

“S-sorry, sugar, I, uh, you surprised me.” Duck’s words die off into a whine as Indrid climbs off him. Then his eyes widen when Indrid picks the wand back up and turns it on.

“I thought-ohshit, fuck, yeah, thank you sugar, thank you.” Duck twitches and pants as Indrid holds the toy against him once more. 

This is one of his favorite ways to get Duck off. It gives him a perfect view of his whole body, and the intensity of it turns Duck pliant and pleading in a matter of seconds. 

It also makes him come very hard and very rapidly, which is exactly what Indrid needs him to do. 

Duck tenses, voice breaking, and cums, still gratefully repeating Indrid’s name. As he gets his breath, he grins up at him.

“I, I thought I wasn’t gonna get to cum if I didn’t do what I was told.”

Indrid smiles wickedly, “I didn’t say that, now did I?”

Duck catches his meaning as he turns the toy on again and presses it against his folds.

“AHahhhfuck” Duck is giggling even as he shakes from the over-stimulation, “I, I see how it is. Fuck, oh fuck sugar, this ain’t really a punishment for me.”

“Not yet.” Indrid purrs, “It’s no fun if you beg for mercy right away.”

“Fuck that’s good.” Duck’s tongue peeks between his lips as his hips visibly tense. 

Indrid watches smugly as Duck wriggles on the bed, cumming a second time. And continues holding the vibrator in place, even as Duck whimpers and tries to back away from it. 

“Stay put on your own, or I will strap you down. You are cumming as many times as I see fit.”

Duck stops inching away, but the whines and weak moans leaving his throat increase. 

“P-please, ‘Drid, just, just a little break-”

“If you truly need that, you know what to say.” Even though Indrid knows Duck loves to be pushed and to beg, he gives him ample time to respond with their safeword.

He gets a pleading reach instead, “Please, I wanna touch you while, fuck, when I cum again.”

Indrid takes his hand, kisses it, and holds it as Duck’s fingers tighten on his own, the ranger riding out his third orgasm with a broken, soft moan. 

“Good boy.” Indrid switches off the toy, keeps his voice imperious, “Now, take the harness off and get on your knees, hands on the headboard.”

Duck obeys, shaking more than a little, and once he’s in position Indrid crawls behind him, teasing the still-sensitive opening with his cock. 

“Good boy” he murmurs in Duck’s ear, hands lovingly running along his chest and belly, “My wonderful Duck. Do you know what is going to happen now, my sweet?” 

Duck shakes his head. 

“I am going to fuck you, and you are going to cum with my cock inside you.”

“Ain’t sure I can.” Duck says meekly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure you do.” Indrid coos menacingly, pushing inside. Duck buckles for a moment, and Indrid holds him close, kissing the back of his neck. As Duck adjusts, Indrid slowly thrusts, pulling most of the way out before shoving sharply in.

“There you are, doing so well for me already. Such a, goodness, such a good boy, taking my cock so well even though it must be quite overwhelming at this point.”

“Got that right, fuck, fuck ‘Drid.” 

“Poor Duck, how I spoil you.”

Duck shoots a shaky smile over his shoulder, “Don’t sound too sorry about that.”

“That would be because I’m not.” Indrid picks up the wand, reaches around and presses it onto Duck’s dick. 

“FuckfuckFUCK, oh god, please.” Duck whimpers.

“I adore spoiling you, giving you pleasure after pleasure.”

“Please, yes, sugar I love it too.” Duck is moving his hips in a valiant effort to cum faster. 

“But some days I want to see you so overrun with pleasure that you can do nothing but be at my disposal.”

“Whenever you want, fuck, fuck _‘Drid_.” Duck slaps the headboard pathetically as he cums, gradually slumping forward.

Indrid wraps one arm around his chest, places the other on his hip, and rams up into him, Duck yelping as he does. 

“That’s it pet, mmmm, so loose, so relaxed, so ready to be filled up like a plaything, yes, darling, yes, good god you feel amazing when you’re writhing with overstimulation, yes _yes_.” His breath comes out in a hiss as he cums, holding Duck tight until he’s finished, craning to kiss him and swallow down his little, grateful whines. 

When he pulls out and sits back on his heels, Duck stays put, breathing hard. 

“Are you alright, my love?”

A nod.

“Do you need to be held?”

Another nod. 

Indrid gathers Duck into his arms with all the gentleness required when handling the most precious thing in the world. Duck nuzzles his collarbone, Indrid drawing the nearest blanket up to cover them. As Duck comes down, Indrid coats his face and head with kisses. 

“My lovely Duck, my sweet, you were incredible, you make me so happy, I love you so much.”

“ ‘Ove you too.” Duck mumbles, blinking sleepily up at him. 

“There’s that handsome smile. What do you need, my pet?”

“Water, mostly. And, uh, maybe somethin to eat? Worked up an appetite. Can’t imagine why.” He smirks, and Indrid kisses his nose. 

“I shall return.”

When he gets back from the kitchen, glass in one hand and plate in the other, Duck has scooched to sit up against the headboard. 

“Oh hell yeah, how’d you get some of that cake?”

“Patrick offered me some to take home before we left this afternoon.” He cuddles under the blanket, sets the plate and forks between them and hands the glass to Duck. 

Duck sips, then rests his head on Indrid’s shoulder, “Happy, darlin?” 

Indrid snuggles closer, “How could I not be? After all; I’ve found my perfect match.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to whoever sent this prompt in. It turned out to be so fun to write!


End file.
